step into the light
by humanveil
Summary: "I'm not jealous," Victor says, and to his credit, it sounds convincing. EVERVALE. Lockland Era.


**Characters:** Eli/Victor

**Word Count:** 1350

**Tags/Warnings:** Lockland Era, Infidelity angie/eli mentions

**Summary:** "I'm not jealous," Victor says, and to his credit, it sounds convincing.

[]

"Me or her?"

Eli's voice carries across the room, casual in a way that almost sounds feigned; something lingering underneath it. He watches Victor. Watches him move behind the kitchen counter, water running from the sink as he fills a glass, drinks, fills it again.

Victor barely gives him a glance. "What?"

"You," Eli explains. He sits cushioned on their couch, his head thrown back against the armrest, angled so he can watch his roommate, legs tangled together atop the two-seater. The door has just shut, apartment quiet now that Angie's gone, the faint taste of strawberry on his lips the only sign she'd been there at all. "Are you jealous of me, or are you jealous of Angie?"

He pauses, then, as the question sinks in. Victor looks up this time, eyes meeting Eli's across the room, expression one of imitated indifference: good enough to fool Eli if he were anyone else.

A slow smile creeps across Eli's face. "Or both?"

He sees it, the moment Victor decides to lie. There's a laugh: breathy and barely audible. A twitch of his hand against the bench, the pads of his fingers tapping to a beat only he can hear. Then: "I thought you said you _weren't _drinking."

Deflective. _Avoidant_. Eli tuts. "Don't play dumb, Vale," he tells him. Adds, _It doesn't suit you_, inside his head. Doesn't suit _either _of them, really. Especially not when they're alone together.

"I'm not."

"No?" It's calm. Conversational, as if they're discussing Professor Lyne's latest class. "So you ignore us for a different reason?" He sits up, throws his arm across the couch's back and tilts his head. "Leave the room when she gets here. Pretend to be busy so you can escape."

"I don't—"

"You never look at us, either," Eli interrupts. He smiles. One he knows Victor hasn't seen before; mirth mixed with something primitive. "I catch you, sometimes," he tells him. "The way you look at anything else. Angie thinks it's because you're uncomfortable, but it's not. I can tell." He looks at Victor: tense shoulders, tight jaw. Knows he's hit a nerve. "Not a whole lot of reasons for that."

"I'm not jealous," Victor says, and to his credit, it sounds convincing. But then, Eli thinks, he always _had_ been convincing: fabricated layers piled on top of each other, forming the frame of an honest man. It amazes him, the way no one else can see it. The way Victor mimics what he's missing. It's what had drawn Eli to him in the first place.

"You're seriously going to lie, Vic?" he says. Voice lowered, softened. Pitched to provoke. "To _me?" _

A pause follows: not so much tense as it is electric, the space between them tingling with intangible energy. Susceptible to spark at any moment. Eli keeps his eyes on Victor. Sees his pale throat shift, a dry swallow. His glass is discarded, Victor stepping away from the bench. He doesn't move forward, though. As if caught; suspended under Eli's gaze.

"I'm not jealous," he says again, and Eli doesn't correct him this time. Lets him have his denial; the veil over his own vulnerability. "You just—"

He breaks off. Eli can see his brain tick, Victor's words carefully selected.

"I what?" he asks, prompting. He can feel his own heartbeat, the simmering acceleration; the coil of excitement unravelling in his veins, spreading through his blood like a party drug. It only heightens when Victor finally concedes.

"You pay attention to Angie," he says, and it makes Eli stop. His forehead furrows, Victor's admission not what he'd been expecting.

"I pay attention to you, too," he says slowly, but Victor shakes his head before he's even finished his sentence.

"It's not the same," he says. Quickly, as if he'd been expecting Eli's answer. "She doesn't have to work for it."

And, _oh_, Eli thinks. _Interesting_. Then: _Wrong_. So very, very wrong. It's not a matter of who works for it, he thinks. It's not about either of them at all. No. It's about _him_. About how he feels when in their company. Where Angie keeps him restrained, level, _normal_, Victor calls to the wild within; his presence an invitation for all the _wrong_ to creep to the surface. The attention he gives Angie is a conscious effort, even when it's easy, sincere. What he gives Victor is different. It's freer, darker, feels... _Natural. _

"You're an idiot," he says, and then regrets it when Victor looks scorned. He lifts a hand, reaches out, as if to draw him back in. Victor stills, half turned away; barely giving him a second chance. "No, I mean. I mean, you've got it mixed." Victor looks confused, and Eli lets himself smile. Big and bright: a trademark Cardale. His voice is warm, charming, when he adds, "You think anyone else knows me like you do, Vale?"

Victor rolls his eyes: fondness mixing with irritation. Eli's smile only widens. He'd expected it; knows Victor doesn't like his charming side. But his lips still quirk, as if he can't help it, and Eli fixates on that.

"Come here," he says, and feels divine when Victor moves as if pulled by string.

Eli keeps his eyes on him, on the way his body moves beneath the coat: a practiced grace, too perfect to be wholly natural. When he's near enough, Eli reaches out, warm fingers winding around Victor's wrist and pulling, Victor's weight falling in a fluid motion and landing in his lap, their bodies an awkward twist of limbs. Victor adjusts himself, knees settling to either side of Eli's thighs, their couch barely big enough to hold the two of them.

Eli tilts his head back. Looks at Victor's pale face: the sharp edges, the pointy nose, the way his lashes span over his cheekbones; gaze angled so far down it's as if his eyes are shut. When he speaks, his breath hits Victor's skin. Mouth mere inches away.

"Is this what you want?" he says, deep and low. Almost a whisper. "My _attention?"_

He can _feel _Victor swallow again; can feel the hesitancy. Eli slips a hand beneath the coat, careful as it settles on Victor's waist, fingers gentle as they sink into flesh through layers of expensive clothing. Victor exhales, heavier than usual, and Eli knows he's not used to this. That it's rare for Victor to think like this at all.

He dips forward, tucks his head under Victor's chin, brushes his lips against the skin above Victor's collar: almost a kiss but not. He can hear his heartbeat again. Can feel it: erratic this time. _Losing control._

Victor shifts, and Eli reaches up, free hand curled around the back of his neck. Holding him in place. He kisses Victor's neck again, properly this time. Gets a stuttered breath in response, Victor's hands settling on both his shoulders.

"Angie," Victor protests, half-hearted at best, and a laugh bubbles in Eli's throat, breathy and brief and hot where it hits Victor's neck: a teasing, tantalising point of contact.

"Not my concern," he says, honest, and it's funny, really. The way Victor reacts to that. The way Victor always reacts to this side of him: a morbid curiosity, maybe, the way he wants to erode Eli back to nothing, to strip him raw, rid him of what everyone else seems to adore. The false charm, the careful charisma. Eli knows Victor likes him better this way: bold as brass and honest. Knows that if he could, Victor would reach a hand inside and come away with the ugly truth of Eli's core.

He thinks, _maybe we're as bad as each other. _

_Maybe that makes it better._

He pulls away, looks back up. "My focus is on you, now," he says, simple, his fingers sliding up Victor's neck, into the hair at his nape. He nudges Victor down, closer and closer; the both of them breathing the same air when Eli adds, "What are you going to do with it?"

Victor's eyes gleam, alight with a mischievous glint.

Eli imagines he sees it mirrored on himself.


End file.
